


One sentence comment ficcery

by elephant_eyelash



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Downton Abbey, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, multifandom - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elephant_eyelash/pseuds/elephant_eyelash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-sentence prompts from tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	One sentence comment ficcery

_Robert/Lyanna, unrequited love, dagger._

He remembers the first time he presses his fingers into her and feels him there, a ghost that blackens and consumes her body (no, his body, his, she was his). And the dagger is swift and soft, and in the end he thinks she welcomed its touch.

 

_Arya/Gendry, babyfic_

He tells her of a song he once knew, the song his mother used to sing in those rare times when her hair was like spun sunlight and there was food in his belly, and even though it is half-remembered and he is sure the words are wrong, the baby smiles and kicks his legs anyway. Beside him Arya watches her son’s blue eyes and is reminded of the first time she saw a blue sky, when winter finally began to retreat from the world.

 

_Arya/Gendry, at Winterfell_

She spends the first day tugging at his arm, showing him the contours and shapes and shadows of her childhood, and telling him to stop complaining about the cold.

 

_Hotpie and Arya_

Sometimes he likes to talk to her about the art of pastry, of how butter marbles the flour and blends underneath the fingertips like warm skin, before he realises she is sleeping soundly.

 

_Arya Stark AU, as member of the Brotherhood without Banners_

_I am strong_ , she repeats to herself like a prayer, as they find the first child pale and bloated from hunger by the side of the road, carrion for the crows and the wolves that shadow them.

 

_Sybil/Branson, wonderment at their first child_

She is tiny and every breath stirs her little body, but she is alive, so alive, and both find times throughout the night to breathe in the scent of her, like caramel and soap.

 

_Richard Carlisle, contentment_

He is old now, he realises, as he watches the pale sunlight filter through the greenhouse. The smell of carnations fill his nose: _I have forgotten her_ , he realises, and breathes the scent in, the scent that is no longer belongs to her.

 

_Edith meeting baby Branson_

She is faintly aware of the sound of her Father’s voice, the voice that feels crueller and colder with each passing day, before her niece rests against her breast, and all Edith can hear is the faint breaths mingling in with the sound of her own heartbeat.

 


End file.
